


jump then fall

by irishmizzy



Category: American Idol RPF
Genre: F/M, RPF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-24
Updated: 2010-07-24
Packaged: 2017-10-10 19:05:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/103127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irishmizzy/pseuds/irishmizzy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Friends with benefits, that's what the kids are calling it these days.</p>
            </blockquote>





	jump then fall

**Author's Note:**

> This is entirely untrue, unless it _is_ true, in which case, ha ha, totally called it. Either way, no disrespect, etc.

Pretty much the last thing Dave wants to do is go to Florida and relive his "Idol experience" or whatever, but contracts are binding, so here he is, baking under the lights. And, okay, it hasn't been entirely terrible -- most of his friends are here, and Johns snuck them a few beers before the red carpet, so that helped. And his duet with Carrie was awesome. So mostly he's taking issue with the lights. And this stupid microphone trophy, which is heavy as shit and ugly as sin.

Some photographer waves them into a semi-circle and he ends up wedged between Fantasia and Carrie, who's pressing into his side like she wants to crawl into his vest with him. Which is appreciated, because, well, he has eyes, but also kind of... weird, until she leans close to his ear and grits out, "If he 'accidentally' touches my ass one more time, I will clobber him with this trophy right here on stage," and Dave glances over to see a fake smile on her face and Taylor Hicks' hand low on her waist.

Dave coughs once to hide his laugh and then accidentally-on-purpose bumps Taylor's hand with his own. Okay, fine, it's more of a shove than a bump, but Taylor takes the hint and pulls his hand away; Dave can feel Carrie relax.

She stays pressed against his side though, and leans in a little closer when he mocks Fuller and Seacrest under his breath, so he can feel her laugh before he hears it.

+++

Carrie isn't surprised when she and David end up at some industry event together. Well, not _together_ together, but she sees him on the red carpet and again from across the room and later, after they're done making the rounds, sweet-talking label executives and answering questions about the newest crop of Idol contestants, they end up at a table in a back corner, essentially hiding from the suits while she nurses a glass of wine and he plows through beers like they're going out of style and teases her about the roller coaster at Disney.

"Oh, please, Underwood. You totally hated it," he says, bumping her with his forearm. He's got his sleeves rolled up and she keeps catching glimpses of the tattoo on his wrist. It's distracting. "They were gonna let us go around again, but you fled."

"I did not!" she says.

He laughs loudly. "You did. You so did. You could not get off that thing fast enough." She flushes and he cracks up again. "Yeah, see, now you remember."

"Okay, fine, I did not enjoy it," she says, laughing. "Riding in the front like that always makes me a little --" She waves her hand in the air.

"But you still did it."

"Yeah, well. They asked me to, so."

He looks at her, turned in his seat so his knee is almost touching her leg. "You can say no sometimes, you know," he says, kind of quietly, and she doesn't know how to respond. He smiles. She nods and smiles back, and then looks down at the table as she draws random shapes in the condensation puddled there.

The silence stretches for too long until he says, "What kind of spell turns you into a dinosaur?" and then, without waiting for her to respond, "A tyrannosaurus hex!"

It startles the laugh out of her, it's so bad, but once she starts she can't stop laughing. "That's _terrible_," she says, making a face. He grins at her over the rim of his glass and she leans forward and presses her hand to her face while she laughs. When she sits back, his arm's stretched across the back of her seat so his thumb grazes her bare shoulder every so often, and that keeps the giggles at bay more than anything else.

He's easy to talk to, though, and kindergarten jokes aside he really knows how to make her laugh, so it's kind of a surprise when one of his bandmates shows up and says, "It's been like, three times longer than what we agreed on and unless you want Neal to hijack a ride --"

"Seriously?" David says, and while they're talking Carrie sneaks a look at her phone and realizes wow, it's a lot later than she thought it was.

"Give me five minutes," David says, and off his bandmate's look, "Five. If I'm not out by then you can leave without me."

Carrie stands up when he does, and the alcohol hits her all at once, giving her a headrush. David looks like he's going through the same thing; he chuckles and steadies himself against the table. "I had fun. We should hang out again soon."

"Yeah, totally. I'd like that."

When he hugs her, it's kind of unexpected. Not the hug itself -- everyone here does the whole hug hug, kiss kiss thing -- but the way he wraps his arms all the way around her and squeezes tight. Like people back home hug. He'd hugged her like that at Disney World; it had thrown her for a loop then, too.

"Thanks," he says in her ear, and his beard tickles her skin and sends a shiver down her whole spine. When he pulls away, it takes her a minute to regain her senses, and by that time he's already walking toward the door.

***

She's not expecting him to call the next day, so when he does she stares at her phone until it's on the tail-end of her ringtone, right about to kick over to voicemail. She answers just in time, though, and agrees to meet him for a late lunch at some place he knows. "Come on, before we both fly out," he'd wheedled, "Who knows when we'll both be here again," and that's all it'd taken to convince her.

The restaurant's... well, she's glad she didn't get dressed up or anything, because. Huh. When she thinks about it, it's exactly the type of place she'd expect to find David in -- TVs with all the basketball games on, what looks like a stage, probably for karaoke night, zero paparazzi lurking in the parking lot. She spots him at the bar, wearing a plaid shirt and a hat and nursing a beer. He looks more comfortable here than anywhere else she's seen him.

She doesn't know why she expected anything else, really.

***

Their lunch date -- which is not a date, she tells herself repeatedly, like she needs a reminder -- is fun. He's still insanely easy to talk to, and they trade stories about performing in Iraq ("Oh my god, I almost threw up on the helicopter," he says. "I don't know why you're laughing, because it was not funny at all. At all.") and reminisce about Oklahoma and it's borderline weird, how relaxed it is. She hasn't felt this comfortable with someone not from home for a long time. But David gets it -- all of it, actually -- the Idol machine, the stress of recording, what's so funny about the story she tells about that storm they had when she was in sixth grade. It's nice.

"You know," he says, when they're in the middle of discussing her newest album, "you should try some harder stuff on this one. More rock-type stuff, I mean, not angrier."

"Yeah?" He nods. "Interesting." She sips her water, pretending to think about it. "And have you considered getting a little more country?"

"Well now we sound like the Osmonds," he says, making a face that makes her chuckle. "But now that you mention it, I think line dancing is definitely what has been missing from our shows."

He shimmies from side-to-side, elbows bent at some weird angle, moving the best he can in the confines of the booth. She rolls her eyes. "You're such a dork."

He keeps doing it until she laughs, and then he sits back, beaming at her in a way that makes her feel warm all over.

Later, he walks her to her car and does that guy thing where he runs his hand along the hood admiringly. "Nice."

Carrie shrugs. Her manager'd asked if she wanted a rental and she'd said yes. Getting driven around gets old after a day. It's not like she picked it. He somehow gets that, because he says, "My manager always gets me a crappy Dodge Neon, but this -- I guess I'm a few Album of the Years away from this."

"Talk to me in three years," she says, and bumps his hip with hers, because it's not like things were always like this for her.

David looks almost bashful, the way the corners of his eyes crinkle when he bites his cheek and looks away. He's smiling wide when he looks at her, and then he leans down to kiss her cheek.

"Thanks for lunch," she says. He squeezes her hand.

"We should do it again some time."

Carrie nods. "Call me, you know, if --"

"If I hear through the Idol grapevine that we're both magically in the same town? Of course. I already have your number, see?" He holds up his phone and she sees _C Sizzle_.

"That's me?"

"Who else would it be?"

"I don't know, one of your rapper friends," she says sarcastically. David laughs really, really hard. He's still laughing when he hugs her, tight and warm, like last night.

"I'll definitely call you," he says into her hair.

"Good luck on tour." She kisses his cheek and tries not to memorize the way his beard feels against her skin.

+++

"So you and Carrie Underwood, huh?" Andy says as they stand in the security line at LAX.

"No," Dave says, and that's that.

***

Okay, so the thing is there isn't a him-and-Carrie. At least not in the way his stupid band keeps implying, every time he ducks out to talk to her. Sure, they started talking on the phone a bunch after that lunch thing a while back. And they text kind of a lot, but he's on tour. He texts _everybody_ kind of a lot. Even his mom.

"Dude, you did not just compare her to your mom," Kyle says, as the rest of the guys snicker. They stop when David glares at them. He wishes they'd stop this completely, because it's not like they're doing anything worthy of mocking. He's hung out with her a total of what, three times this year? And only one of those times was intentional.

So, whatever. They're just friends. And even calling it that is stretching it.

Either way, that she's one of the hottest fucking girls on the planet is a fringe benefit, and if Neal doesn't stop making goddamn sarcastic heart hands every time she calls Dave's going to break all his fingers.

***

"I'm just saying, when you wear a vest over a t-shirt, plus that hat, plus one million bracelets, you look like a --

"Guy who is awesome?"

Carrie sighs. "I am trying to help you here."

"Wait a minute -- how do you know what I wear? Underwood, are you stalking me? Is there a hidden camera set up on the bus?" He looks around before he remembers she can't see him. On the other end of the phone she's laughing.

"Anyway, Manila? That's amazing," Carrie non sequiturs. Dave takes the bait, because it's easier than thinking about how, if she knows what he wore last week, it's probably because she was watching clips on YouTube. Or not. Maybe someone told her. Either way he doesn't need to think about it.

"Yeah. I can't believe it. Like... When did -- I mean, how is this even --"

"How is it your life?"

"Exactly." He moves the phone to his other ear and presses his feet against the wall of his bunk, flexing his calves. All he does is stand around and play the guitar. Why the hell is he so sore all the time? "Hey, you know that bridge you asked about the other day? Can you play it for me again? I thought of something for it."

"Seriously? Oh my god, you're the best, hang on." There are some weird, distant noises while she puts the phone down and looks for her computer or whatever. He hears her say, "Oh my god, I love you."

"You'd better," he says, smiling even though she can't see him. She says things like that a lot, and he knows she means it the the same way Neal does when he says it after someone brings him a Vitamin Water after a particularly rough night, but. Well, his stomach isn't doing girlie flips when Neal says it. Which is good, because if he were having the same kind of dreams about Neal that he's been having about Carrie, uh. He's okay with a lot of things, but that... that would be a whole different, awkward can of worms.

Motherfucker, why is he even thinking about this right now? What is _wrong_ with him. This tour is making him crazy.

"Seriously, I do," Carrie says. Before David can respond she says, "Okay, ready?" and plays the song. At least that gives him something else to concentrate on.

+++

Stuff kind of piles on, and with David's family and his trip to Manila and a whole lot of everything else there's a stretch of time where it's like radio silence between them. And it's not that Carrie has anything she _needs_ to tell David, but there's this part of "Unapologize" she kind of wants to get his opinion on, and she heard his single playing at the grocery store last week, and basically she... misses talking to him. She's gotten used to being able to call him whenever she felt like it, she guesses, because it wasn't something she thought much about until she stopped being able to do it.

***

They're both at the Idol finale, but Carrie doesn't get a chance to talk to him until the after party. She waits to go over until the endless parade of people stops offering him hugs, and then ditches her empty champagne glass and sneaks up behind him.

"Guess who."

"IDK, my BFF T-Pain?"

He pulls her hands from his eyes but doesn't let go of her wrists when he turns to grin at her, and she ends up pressed against his back, her arms over his shoulders, hands trapped against his chest.

"Not quite." She laughs as she stretches up to kiss his cheek. "How're you?"

David brushes his thumbs across the insides of her wrists and she squeezes her arms around him a little tighter in response. The silence lasts a touch too long, hanging heavy between them, and then, "Well, I'm much better now," he says with an over-exaggerated leer and a chuckle. Carrie rolls her eyes and twists out of his grip.

"You're such a tool."

"As the recently dethroned American Idol, I'm in a very vulnerable place right now. You should be nicer to me."

"Is that right?"

He nods seriously. "It's a very trying time for me."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

She doesn't remember when he took her hand, or when they started walking, but he's leading her somewhere, smiling over his shoulder as he rambles about the heartache of being deposed. God, she can't believe how much she missed his stupid face. Voice. Whatever.

They end up stopping at the bar (of course they do, she thinks. She's pretty sure David has a keg homing-device built into his brain) before finding a place to sit, in these ridiculously high chairs that aren't even near a table, just a skinny ledge built into a wall that she guesses is supposed to act like a bar.

"So what's new?" he says, once they're settled, and all the dumb things she wanted to tell him while he was gone disappear and she ends up shrugging and telling him, "Nothing, really."

He tilts his head. His hair's different or something. Or maybe it's his beard. Not that she's staring. Crap. "What about you?"

"Nothing, really."

She kicks his ankle lightly, rolling her eyes. "Tell me about your trip!"

He does, and he's crazy excited about it, all wide-eyed and smiley, and when he tells a story about David Archuleta, an interpreter, and a miscommunication involving some poor woman and mangoes, she laughs so hard she's crying.

"Hey," he says, once she's breathing normally. "What happened?" He taps her knee, right next to the Hello Kitty band-aids she's trying to forget are there.

"Oh god." She shakes her head at her own stupidity. "I was running. I tripped."

"Hmm." He traces the bandages with his finger. If he notices the goosebumps she gets, he ignores them. "That's why I don't believe in running."

"Really?"

"Nope. Well. Unless I'm being chased. I know, it's hard to tell." He pats his belly and she tries not to laugh, really she does, but it doesn't work, and she ends up tilted into him, giggling into his shoulder. It's like he was genetically designed to crack her up.

"When do you have to leave?" He squeezes her knee to get her attention.

"Hmm? Oh -- um, Saturday."

"Sucks. You're here for what, four days? Do you even get to see anything that isn't Idol-related?"

"Hey! My hotel room is fantastic, I"ll have you know."

"Yeah? I'd love to see it."

It takes her a second to process, because it's like fifty different things at once, a joke and not one at all, his hand still on her knee, warm and big, and the way her stomach drops and her breath catches, well. Um. And then she bursts out laughing, a little hysterically, because _oh my god_.

David's laughing too, like he can't believe he just said that. "Was that bad? That was bad, wasn't it? I was --"

"It was _horrible_," she says, through peals of laughter. "Oh my god."

He's beet red, all the way down to his neck, and he's biting his lip and oh god, she can't believe she's going to do this, but she's already sliding off her chair, saying, "Come on. Let's get out of here."

He stares at her for a second before snapping to life. "Yes," he says, "Just -- one second."

He goes over to tell his band that he's bailing. They all look in her direction and she can feel her face go red. Oh god. She starts to think that maybe this -- maybe she shouldn't -- but then she stops because David's by her side again, his hand on the small of her back as they slip out a side exit.

There's a side entrance to the hotel, too, and a bank of elevators not in the main lobby, and David says, "Oooh, the secret entrance? How Hollywood."

"Hey!" She hits his chest with their joined hands and -- when did they start holding hands again? How does this keep happening without her noticing? She frowns. "I just -- you know, for the quiet."

He tugs her into the elevator, says, "No, I like it. It means I can do this," and then he's crowding her against the wall and kissing her, his hand sliding up her side, curling around her ribs so his thumb brushes the bare skin there. His beard is softer than she remembers. The elevator ding is insanely loud, like her alarm going off in the morning, jarring and entirely unwelcome. Hands flat on his chest, she pushes him back, just far enough. She can't stop looking at his mouth, shiny and pink and _right there_. She turns her head and takes a shaky breath as the doors rumble open. David takes a step back, and then another, and follows her down the hallway to her room.

It takes her too many tries to even get the key into the door -- David's standing so close, watching her, and she can't think clearly right now -- and eventually David just reaches around her and puts the card into the lock, his breath hot on her neck, beard grazing her skin, and she makes an embarrassing sound that makes him twitch and mess up. The tiny light blinks orange and then they're both laughing.

"Fuck it, we'll just stay out here," David says, so low that the first part comes out kind of like a growl. Carrie has to close her eyes and take a steadying breath before she takes the keycard back from him and successfully opens the door.

She kind of wishes she'd cleaned her room before she left, or at least hadn't left it in the usual pre-red carpet disaster state. It's not _too_ bad, just... messy.

David chuckles when he sees it. "Nice."

"It's not like I was expecting company," she says, maybe a little defensively, and he laughs again.

"Carrie Underwood: Secret Slob. Just wait 'til I tell TMZ."

Her "I hate you" sounds much less effective when he jokingly bites at the curve of her neck, mostly because she completely loses track of what they were talking about. She loses track of a lot of things at that point, because everything David does causes a thousand short circuits in her brain. He's backing her across the room, that much she recognizes, their knees bumping with every few steps. The backs of her legs hit the bed and he pulls back and Carrie gets a good look at him; his collar is wrinkled and his tie's been tugged loose and he's breathing hard. They both are.

They stare at each other for a few seconds, processing. David's idly running his thumb over her collarbone and he's looking at her like... she doesn't know what. Maybe like he can't believe it? She kind of can't, either. This -- this was _not_ how she thought her night was going to end. She's perfectly okay with that.

David blinks and his eyes clear and he grins at her and this time she kisses him, hands sliding under his shirt even as he spins them, tugging her down onto the bed with him.

***

When she wakes up it feels like it all could have been a dream, except her arm's asleep and David's there, taking up two-thirds of the bed. At least he isn't stealing all the blankets.

She figures it must be early, since it's still pretty dark. Rolling over, she pushes herself up to see the clock on David's side of the bed. Yeah, still way too early. She lies back down and shifts around a little, trying to get comfortable.

"Stop moving," David says, mostly into his pillow.

"Sorry," she whispers, wincing. She waits for his breathing to even out to move again, trying to get the feeling back in her arm. This time, he throws an arm over her waist and pulls her flush against him.

"Stop," he says firmly. His nose brushes her ear and she shivers involuntarily. David's arm tightens around her, like even that much movement is too much. She relaxes into him and counts his breaths until she falls back asleep. It doesn't take very long.

When she wakes up a second time, it's because there's a knock at the door, and then a lot of movement, and David standing over her, smiling.

"I took the liberty of ordering breakfast," he says. "Got you an egg white omelet."

She squints at him. "Are you wearing my robe?"

"Uh, it's the _hotel's_ robe. And I think we can both agree that it is way more flattering on my figure." He strikes some weird model pose that makes her giggle. "And I couldn't find my pants," he adds, uncovering all the room service dishes and making faces at half the plates. The stuff he ordered for her, she figures.

Carrie pushes herself upright and runs a hand through her hair. God, she must look like a sight. "What happened to 'stop moving?'"

He crams a piece of toast into his mouth as he shrugs. "I got hungry." Bits of bread fly out when he talks and she can't prevent herself from making a disgusted face. David notices.

"Do you like seafood?" he asks, around another bite of toast.

"What?"

The corners of his mouth quirk up and he kneels on the bed, half-crawling towards her.

"Do you like seafood?"

He takes another bite as she says "Ye--" and then remembers and changes her answer. "No," she says firmly, but it's too late, his mouth is open and there's chewed up toast everywhere. "Gross!" she says, laughing and trying to roll away from him. She doesn't make it far; David's bigger and stronger and it's hard kind of hard to fight back when he's got her pinned to the mattress, wrists over her head. It's kind of hard to breathe then, too.

+++

There are a lot of looks being thrown around when Dave gets back home late on Thursday.

"Well look who's finally decided to join us," Neal says. The hand that isn't holding a beer is twitching like it's physically killing him not to high five Dave. "Did you kids have fun?"

Dave glares at him. Normally he doesn't mind the morning-after grilling, but he probably didn't get enough sleep, or it's like a super-delayed hangover or something, because he is not in the mood to talk to them right now. At all. Plus he started to get that headache as he left Carrie's hotel, after she'd walked him to the door (of her room, not downstairs, because Jesus, would the press have a field day with this one) and kissed him real quick one last time before she'd handed him his sunglasses and said, "Call me." And when he'd gotten to the elevators and looked back down the hallway, her door was already closed and there was that dull ache swelling right behind his temples.

"I'm gonna take a nap," he says.

"And hopefully a shower," Neal says. He laughs when Dave flips him off.

As he's leaving the room, Andy calls after him, "We have to be at the airport in five hours, so seriously, dude. Shower first."

It's not the first time Dave's thought of firing his entire band.

***

Living on a bus means everyone's in everyone's business whether they like it or not, so it's no secret that Dave is checking his phone compulsively because he hasn't heard from Carrie at all. Not that she's like, ignoring his calls, because he hasn't tried to talk to her since Thursday either, but still.

"Here's an idea," Joey says, the slightest edge in his voice.

Dave interrupts with his middle finger and, "Here's another idea."

Andy rolls his eyes and says, "Are you freaking out?" at the same time Neal says, "Are you being a pussy about _this_, too?" like there's a huge list of things Dave's being a pussy about.

"No," he says sullenly.

"Just call her," Kyle says from where he's scrunched in the corner. He doesn't even look up from his phone.

Everyone nods. Dave sighs and scrubs his hands over his face. Sure, it's easy for them, but this -- fuck, and at first he waited because he didn't want to call immediately and look like a loser, and now he's worried that he waited too long and he's just an asshole. He squeezes his head in his hands and makes a frustrated noise. Hopefully not too loudly. When he looks up, they all pretend like they weren't just staring at him. Probably talking about him, too, silently, waving their hands and pointing and mouthing shit.

Andy reaches over and shoves him, trying to force him out of the seat, so Dave fights back, trying to press Andy's face into the window. It doesn't take much before the whole thing devolves into a wrestling match and no one's talking about the Carrie thing anymore.

***

He calls her, eventually. When the guys aren't around, out doing some touristy shit in Western Massachusetts. So, knowing them, trying to find a bar open this early on a Sunday.

"Hey, how was your show? Shows, I mean," Carrie asks as soon as she answers. On the third ring. Not that he was counting. She doesn't sound like she hates him, so that's a plus.

"Good!" he says. And, because she'll understand what he means, "You know. The same as always."

She chuckles. "Just think: it could be -- what was your final song? For the Idol tour?"

"Oh Jesus," he says, shuddering at the thought. "Please Don't Stop the Music."

"Please don't stop the, please don't stop the --" Carrie sings softly. David groans. "Come Back to Me doesn't seem so bad now, does it?"

"I am going to fly to Tennessee and murder you for getting that stuck in my head," David says. Carrie laughs. He can hear clicking on her end, like she's typing. Working on something, probably. He rests his forehead against the window. There's a cluster of people standing around outside, taking pictures of the bus. He moves back from the window, sinks down so he's laying horizontal on the couch. He can still hear Carrie typing.

"Hey," he says.

"Hmm?"

"I should've called sooner. I'm sorry I didn't."

"No, it's -- David, I could've --"

He shrugs. "Still."

"Yeah. Me too," she says.

***

After that, things go back to normal. Or, as normal as things can be when you're sleeping in a different city every night. He talks to Carrie a lot, just because. Like he did before. The guys make faces sometimes (okay, pretty much all the time, but fuck them. He and Carrie were friends before they slept together. Since when is it a crime to talk to your friends?), but they don't say anything. Probably because they know what's best for them. And who cuts their paychecks.

Sometimes Dave wishes he could, you know, actually hang out with Carrie, because this phone shit is getting old, but whatever. It's only because he hasn't seen her in over a month.

He hasn't gotten laid in that long, either.

Those are separate problems, though. Completely separate.

***

Joey's the one who finds the pictures of Carrie playing softball on some gossip website. "Did you know about this?" he asks, pointing at the computer.

Dave squints at the screen, Carrie at the plate, cap on backwards, look of fierce determination on her face. It's pretty fucking adorable. "Yeah," he says belatedly. He thinks he remembers her mentioning a charity game at some point.

"She looks good," Joey says, idly clicking through the pictures, past ones of Carrie in the infield, in the dugout. Running the bases. Dave can see the muscle definition in her legs in that one. A lot of definition. Wow. Her shorts are... pretty short. He blinks.

"Yeah." He clears his throat. "Impressive." He claps Joey on the back and digs into his pocket for his phone.

When he tells Carrie how promising her baseball career is, she laughs. "I am a girl of many talents," she says smugly.

"Oh, I remember."

"David!" she says, sounding scandalized. He's pretty sure that if she were sitting next to him he'd have a bruise the exact size and shape of her fist on his arm. "Oh my god." He's also pretty sure she's trying not to laugh.

"Oh, did I tell you we're going to be in Oklahoma in a few weeks," he says.

"You are? Awesome."

"Yup."

There's a stretch of silence. Dave bites his lip and tries to keep himself from saying "You should come," because that is maybe -- no, definitely -- definitely one of the lamest things he could do right now.

"Wait, when?" she says. He tells her the exact dates. "That's crazy," she says. "I'm visiting home for a week; maybe we'll bump into each other. If you're lucky."

"Fingers crossed," he says. And if he actually crosses his fingers, well, there's no one around to see him do it, so who the fuck cares.

+++

"Hey, did you see that there was an Idol blind item the other day?" Amanda asks Carrie in the car on the way to lunch.

"No," Carrie says, because since when does she read blind items? They're always ridiculous, people snorting coke off their assistant's shoulder blades or whatever. Who cares?

"Apparently," Amanda says excitedly, "two Idols hooked up after the finale! My money's on Adam and Kris."

Carrie thinks maybe this is what a stroke feels like. She's going to crash the car. Awesome. "What?" she says, distracted. And then, "Adam didn't win, so he's not an Idol. Technically."

Amanda's eyes go wide. "What? Wait. Do you know something?"

Carrie knows she's turning bright red. She concentrates on driving, flips on her turn signal and pulls into a space outside the restaurant while Amanda keeps asking questions.

"You? NO. Oh my god, WHO? Please don't say Taylor."

"Eww, seriously? Why would you even THINK that?"

"Was it Kris?"

"Oh my god, he's _married_." Amanda blinks at her, waiting, until Carrie rolls her eyes. "David," she says, "Cook. Are you happy?" It kind of feels good to get it off her chest; it's weird that she hasn't told anybody.

"Yes! Wait -- him?"

Carrie rolls her eyes and gets out of the car. "We're not done talking about this! I have so many more questions!" Amanda yells. "CARRIE. HEY."

***

Okay, so maybe telling someone wasn't her best idea ever -- not that like, the tabloids know now, but her friends do and. They're all kind of... judgey. In a loving way, Carrie thinks, but wow, she is getting a lot of crap for it. Especially since she mentioned that she's gonna see him when she's in Oklahoma.

"Seriously, him?" Amanda says, pointing to a picture on her computer where David's wearing a t-shirt Carrie remembers from Urban five years ago, the Abstinence Day one. Gave his word to stop at third, ha, Carrie thinks.

"Shut up," Carrie says, shoving her shoulder. "You'd like him."

"Did he woo you with pirate jokes?"

"No." She laughs -- that pirate joke did crack her up.

"Man," Amanda says, shaking her head. "You really like him." When Carrie doesn't deny it she looks back at the screen and sighs. "Well, he could be a lot wor -- is he wearing a fedora? No. Never mind. I'm not -- " she looks at Carrie like she's insane. "Seriously? Him?"

Carrie rolls her eyes. God, it's not like they're getting married. They're not even _dating_. Not that that would be a bad thing. All David's stupid jokes make her laugh, and so do the shirts and whatever, he's a thousand times better than a lot of her exes, who were totally not the type to call her from the twelfth hole of the golf course because, okay, maybe they'd had a few beers but so-and-so just told this joke and she HAS TO HEAR IT, IT DOESN'T MATTER IF SHE'S BUSY, THIS IS HILARIOUS AND IMPORTANT.

And even though it wasn't important, like, _at all_, she was still glad he'd called, and she'd messed up in the middle of a satellite interview because she was still laughing at "buffaloan" three hours later, so yeah. _Him_.

***

She's in Oklahoma to work on the C.A.T.S. thing first and see her family second, and she really wanted to make it to David's show, but she's already running late, and it's not like she can tell her family that she's ditching them for David Cook -- god, her mom would probably want to come, or worse: she'd start asking questions and Carrie really doesn't feel like trying to explain this insane relationship they've established. Not that she would call it a relationship. Oh god, see? This is why she can't tell her mom. And besides, there's the whole thing where if Carrie meets him at the venue and people see them and then all of a sudden Perez Hilton is drawing on her face and telling the world that she and David are hiding an affair. She'd really like to avoid that.

She ends up texting David, telling him that she's stuck at dinner but she'll be free later if he's got time. _for u? always_, he sends back, followed by the name of the hotel he's staying in and a note to call when she's close.

It's not until she's five minutes away that she kind of freaks out. What if things are totally weird now? She's pretty sure they won't be, but still. They could be, she doesn't know. Maybe this whole thing is a terrible idea. She should've said she'd meet him for lunch instead. Started small, worked their way up to... whatever.

But it's too late to turn around, and she already told him she was coming, so she orders herself to calm down and calls him from the parking lot.

"Awesome, I'll be right down," he says.

The lobby's pretty deserted, which isn't surprising. She self-consciously pulls her hat down anyway. When the elevator doors slide open to reveal David she grins. His face lights up when he sees her. He doesn't get out of the elevator, just sticks one foot out to hold the door and waves her on.

"Sorry," he says as the doors slide closed, "no secret elevators here." She elbows him and laughs and then throws her arms around his neck. His go almost completely around her waist and she forgets why she was freaking out to begin with.

***

They make it through an entire _Friends_ rerun -- David asks her about the drive, her family, how she's been, the two of them sitting side-by-side on the bed, barely touching -- before David kisses her, and then he asks, "Is -- is this okay?" like he's worried he's misread the situation.

"God, yeah," she says, grabbing a fistful of his shirt and pulling him down on top of her. He smells clean, like soap and hotel shampoo; he probably showered after the show. She smiles, thinking about it, and he says, "What?" against her mouth.

"Nothing," she says. She slides her hands under his shirt, pushing it up. He gets the idea.

"I missed you." He's stuck inside his t-shirt when she says it, but when he gets it off he tosses it blindly across the room and stares at her. She bites her lip; now that it's out there, she's never getting it back.

David cups her face with one hand, smooths his thumb over her cheek, and then he leans down and kisses her. It's different than the other times -- sweeter, maybe. Slower. She can't describe it, but it's the kind of kiss she wants to remember forever. Or maybe she never wants it to end.

She shifts under him, curls one of her legs around his so they're fitted closer together. She can feel him through his jeans, half-hard already, and when she rolls her hips his breath wooshes out of his lungs. She does it again, and he groans, and then he switches their positions, rolling them until she's straddling his hips, smiling down at him. She kisses the ribbon on the middle of his chest. He runs his hand through her hair and then all the way down her arm, his other hand moves up her leg, under her dress, and then he's sliding his fingers past her underwear and she has grab the headboard to steady herself. And then David's sitting up, kissing her, crooking his fingers, until -- god, she feels like everything that's been coiled tight inside her is going to fly apart.

Later, she's laying in bed watching him turn his room upside down looking for condoms, cursing under his breath, and she laughs when she says, "Maybe if it didn't look like a tornado hit, we wouldn't be --"

"Hey," he says, "I seem to recall a certain hotel room in LA, so maybe the pot shouldn't be calling the kettle a slob -- a ha!" He holds up his hand triumphantly and she laughs, and then he stops at the foot of the bed and just looks at her. "God, woman," he says, awed. Carrie can feel herself turning red.

She pokes him with her toe, hoping he'll stop looking at her like that. David catches her foot, kisses the top of it, and then he makes his way up the rest of her body, and it's like the whole world drops away and it's them, here, and she's tilting her hips up, digging her heel lightly into him to urge him on, him murmuring unintelligible things into her skin. She thinks she hears him say he missed her too, but she's not sure, so she turns her head and kisses him.

+++

They meet up with the rest of the band for brunch the next morning, even though Dave tells Carrie a hundred times they don't have to. She just smiles and tells him to shut up, she's starving.

When she excuses herself to take a call, Andy says, "So you're dating now?"

Dave chokes on his burger. "No."

"Elaborate booty call, then?" Neal offers.

Dave is horrified and a little offended. "NO."

"Because in my experience, girls don't just randomly fly halfway across the country to see you."

"Girls don't fly anywhere to see you," Dave says.

"Then why does your mom have so many frequent flier miles?

Dave punches him in the shoulder and even when Neal says "Ow, that's gonna bruise, fucker," Dave wishes he'd put a little more muscle into it. "She was here to see family, dickhead," he says. "And for some charity thing. For her hometown. It was a coincidence."

Carrie comes back then. "Sorry," she says, "work stuff," and Andy asks about her new album, which she says is going great, but this was about a donation she's helping out with in Checotah. "It's why I came out here, actually -- to deal with all that stuff. Well, and to see my family." Dave smirks at Neal, who crosses his arms and slumps down in his seat.

Dave rests his arm behind Carrie and she relaxes into him, her hand curling over his knee like it belongs there, and he... he tries not to think about what's going to happen tomorrow, or the day after that.

***

They spend the afternoon doing nothing special -- he wants a new hat, so he drags her along and she vetoes ninety-nine percent of the ones he tries on; she spots a music store and tells him about the instruments they're getting for C.A.T.S. and laughs at him when he picks up a guitar and tells him yeah, it probably would be fun to put on an impromptu show right here in the store, but maybe he shouldn't? Unless he wants Billy Bush outside in under five minutes; they TP Neal and Andy's hotel room (Carrie doesn't even ask why, just tells him they're going to need more toilet paper and then stands guard while he robs a housekeeping cart). It's fun. And relaxing, except for the part that makes the voice in the back of his head say "Date! This is a date! You are on a date!" The voice in his head sounds a lot like Neal.

But at one point, on the way back to the car, Carrie laces their fingers together and leans up to kiss his cheek and Dave honestly doesn't give fuck what Neal says. The real version or the imaginary one.

When they gets back to his room, Dave flops down on the bed. He could really go for a nap right about now.

"Shopping is tiring," he says.

Carrie laughs. "Yeah, trying on all those hats must've worn you out." He nods and pretends to yawn; while he's stretching, she pokes his stomach. "Hey, I was thinking."

Her voice sounds weird. When he looks at her, she's staring at her lap, picking at a loose thread on her pants.

"That they should make breakfast burritos with pancakes instead of tortillas? Me too!"

She makes a face, confused and amused and exasperated, but at least now she's looking at him. She takes a deep breath, turns so she's facing him more fully. "I was thinking that you should come see me in Nashville some time."

"Oh yeah?"

She nods. He kind of wants to ask what that means -- well, he knows what it _means_, but he wants to know for selfish reasons. Maybe he wants to make her say it out loud, that she likes sleeping with him. That she likes spending time with him. Maybe he wants to know if this is more than just friends who happen to have awesome sex once in a while. Because he knows where he stands, but...

Jesus, for people who talk all the time, they sure haven't discussed a lot of things.

He almost says something, but Carrie's leaning over him, her hair falling like a curtain around their faces, and he chickens out. "Deal," he says, kissing the curve of her smile.

He wonders if the tour's ever going to Nashville. Carrie rakes her fingernails across his chest and fuck, he _really_ hopes they are playing there. Tomorrow, preferably.

***

They're in Tennessee two weeks later.

It's like a two drive from Chattanooga up to Nashville, but the look on her face is worth it. (And that's when Dave knows, really knows, he's got it bad, because he's more taken by how her eyes go wide and bright when she opens the door than by the way her head falls back as she clenches around him when he's got up against the wall in the front hallway.) He doesn't have much time -- they're playing Lansing tomorrow, and he'd slept through his fucking alarm, so he he was late before he even got on the road, but. Fuck it. He'd be glad to be here if it were for twenty minutes.

"Study," Carrie says, waving her hand in the direction of an open door.

"This is a pretty shitty grand tour," he says, sliding past her and into the room. The doorway's big, but he brushes up against her as he goes through, just to hear her breath stutter a little. "I'd like to file a complaint with the manager."

"Put it on comment card."

He's patting his pockets like he's looking for a pen when he notices the bookshelves lining the room, awards lined up neatly. "Um, I'm sorry, did you say 'study' or 'shrine?'"

"Shut up."

"Because I don't know if one could actually study in here, or if it'd be more like going blind from the glare."

"David," she says, making it like six syllables instead of two. He thinks it's cute when she's trying to act annoyed.

"Sorry. So is the gift shop next door, or are the commemorative t-shirts in that desk ov --" Carrie puts her hand over his mouth and glares. She's leaning so close their noses are almost brushing. "Sorry," he says, his lips mashed against her palm so it comes out muffled. She takes her hand away but doesn't step back.

"The room's nice," David says. "You must be very proud."

Something in her face changes, softens; she closes the space between them, kissing him softly, her nails scratching gently through his beard. She's smiling when they break apart, her hands still on his cheeks. She pulls him back down toward her and kisses him quickly.

"Tour's leaving." She's out the door before he can blink.

"But I didn't get to see the pedestal for your Idol trophy!" he yells after her, grinning like a motherfucker when he hears her laugh echo through the hall.

***

That night he's flat-out exhausted, which sucks because what the fuck. This was supposed to be his one day with her.

"Shit, I'm sorry," he says after he yawns for the third time in like twenty minutes. Jesus, he was practically falling asleep on his plate earlier, and now he can barely keep his eyes open. He thinks they're watching... something on TV. A movie? His arm twitches and his whole body jerks with the force of it. Shit, was he asleep?

Carrie slips out from under his arm, leaving a giant cold spot all along his body. "Come on," she says, holding out her hand. His body feels like lead as she leads him to her room and he can barely get one foot in front of the other. His hands clumsily fumble with his belt until she bats them away and undoes it for him. She steadies him as he steps out of his jeans, too, only laughing the tiniest bit when they get tangled around his feet.

"I'm didn't think -- I'm just -- " He keeps breaking off into yawns.

"Yeah, I know. I've been on tour, too, remember?"

She smiles softly and he -- this is not what he'd thought would happen when he got here. He sighs and Carrie wraps him up in a hug, her arms around his middle and her face against his neck. She's so warm. "Seriously," she says. Her lips at his pulse point wake him up a little, but not enough. "I'm just glad I got to see you at all."

He squeezes her tighter, and they stand like that for a while, until Carrie takes a step back and uses the momentum to push him onto the bed. He's asleep before his head his the pillow.

He wakes up to an alarm he doesn't recognize. Carrie leans over him to shut it off.

"David," she says, prodding at his side, steering him in the direction of the bathroom. "You gotta go."

She's got coffee waiting for him when he gets out.

"My hero," he says, reaching for the mug she's holding out, drinking half of it in one go.

Carrie's perched on the counter, hands wrapped around a mug of her own. He steps into the vee of her legs and sets his coffee on the countertop, sliding his hands up and down her thighs. "Sleep well?"

He makes a face, embarrassed. "God, Carrie, I'm sor -- "

Rolling her eyes, she sets her mug aside and snags a fistful of his shirt, her legs hooking around his waist as she pulls him in, sleepily making out with him until he really has to leave for the airport.

He thinks she looks a little wet-eyed when he leaves, but he's barely awake, so he could be wrong. Who knows.

***

He has a voicemail waiting when he lands in Michigan.

At first it's dead air, but then he hears Carrie taking a shaky breath, and something in his chest runs icy and sharp. "This isn't... David, what are we..." She exhales slowly, and there's a long pause. Her voice is almost back to normal when she says, "I'm sorry. Never mind. Have a good show." It takes all his strength not to get right back on a plane. He settles for sitting down at an empty gate, pulling his hood up and calling her.

"Hi!" she says, fake happily.

"Carrie?" he says. He sounds desperate.

"I went for a run; I'm better now."

His eyebrows shoot up. "Really?"

"Yup."

"Liar."

She laughs hollowly and for a second there's that icicle in his chest again. "Really," she says.

He watches a plane take off. In the distance he can see two more landing. Carrie says, "Listen, David, I'm really sorry. I was being -- I don't know. Ridiculous. I'm really sorry."

He should tell her not to apologize, or that he gets it, he feels the same way, or something. Anything. Hell, he should've told her before he left her house. It should've been the first thing he said when he got there. But he didn't and now -- he's in a fucking airport, and if Carrie cries on the phone he'll -- "Hey," he says, watching another plane touch down, "how does a whale eat it's toast?"

"I don't --" she clears her throat. "I don't know. How _does_ a whale eat it's toast?" There's that lilt in her voice, the one she uses when she's humoring him, and already he feels a little better.

"With jellyfish!" he says.

Carrie laughs and groans at the same time, and that's familiar, too. "I gotta go," she says. "But we'll --"

"Yeah, of course. Later," he says, already on his feet and heading toward the exit.

He can't stop thinking about how sad she sounded, though, and when he meets up with the band Andy says, "What the heck happened to you? Did your dog die?"

David tosses his duffel bag at him. "I don't wanna talk about it," he says, crawling into his bunk to take a nap even though he's not really tired.

+++

Days later, Carrie still can't believe she left that message for David. It's like watching him drive away that morning turned her into an emotional basketcase, and he -- he shouldn't have to deal with that. Just because she was stupid and let herself get attached. Let herself think that maybe there was a way for them to... she doesn't know. Be something more? Augh.

She ends up running a lot, hoping that it'll help clear her thoughts. Give her time to sort things out. She thinks it'll work. Eventually. So long as Bar-Ba-Sol doesn't come up on her workout mix any time soon.

She's on the homestretch, calves and lungs burning as she turns into her driveway. And then she sees David, sitting against her front door, fiddling with his phone. She wonders if she's hallucinating.

"David?" She pulls her earbuds out of her ears. His head snaps up and he scrambles to his feet.

"I was calling you," he says, holding up his phone.

"I was out running," she says dumbly. "What --"

He shrugs. "We have a few days off. It was either now or the middle of August."

Carrie hears herself make a choked noise. She is not going to cry. She's all sweaty and she can't stop smiling and she feels like she's in shock, or maybe dreaming. She touches his chest carefully. He's really there.

"Surprise?" he says.

She kisses him, laughing against his mouth, She pulls back and presses her face into his chest, breathing him in. His arm wraps around her shoulders; she can feel his lips against her hair.

"I smell like airplane," he says after a minute. "And you --" he moves back, tilts her head up to look at him, gives her the once-over and comes up with a mock-horrified face, "Jesus, Underwood, this workout thing might be contagious."

She's laughing when she kisses him, pressing her body flush against his. She thinks maybe she's falling in love with him.

"I'm serious," he says, walking backwards, pulling her towards the house without breaking any contact. Her feet are barely touching the ground. "What if I start running?"

She thinks maybe she has been for a while.


End file.
